


Sweater Weather

by t_dactyl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, also to get her in a huge oversized sweater tbqh, this was honestly written just to give widowmaker some love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_dactyl/pseuds/t_dactyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia is cold, Zarya is a teddy bear, and Amélie doesn't enjoy it (she most definitely does not).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> hello my dudes, do y'all like obscure rarepairs with little to no actual interaction? well you've come to the right place. no smut in this, which sure is a change for me, but i was down to write some cute gay shit yolo  
> also, let's pretend that widowmaker is with overwatch now for whatever reason and shit's good and whatever adn she remembers how she was before Talon took her and shit  
> ANYWAY -- have fun

The sun is just barely setting, but the lack of proper lighting in the overwatch safehouse makes everything look as if it’s bathed in shadows already. The amber remnants of daylight cling weakly to the cold floor and recede steadily as eyes that match the amber glow watch tacitly, unbothered by the encroaching darkness.

 

You haven’t minded the dark in a very long time, and the darkness of an overwatch safehouse is nothing compared to the permeating, all-consuming abysses that you’ve had to endure in your time with Talon. Their base here in Russia might as well be the lap of luxury compared to other places you’ve stayed. It means nothing to you where you are. Not much really matters to you anymore.

 

In a matter of moments, all the light is gone but you can’t find it in yourself to turn on the lights to continue the reading you had been doing before you’d gotten distracted. You had the brief of the mission all but memorized by now anyway. You would go in with your team, secure the payload, eliminate opposition, and escort it safely to the overwatch warehouse. A simple mission for someone like you, a waste of your skill if one were to ask your opinion on it, but it must be done.

 

With a resigned sigh, you’re just about to rise and go to your assigned sleeping quarters when footsteps passing the doorway stop abruptly.

 

“Hello?”

 

An instantly recognizable Russian accent calls out and draws your attention to the large mass of woman standing and glancing curiously into the darkened room, searching for the source of the whatever caught her attention, presumably your sigh.

 

Alexksandra is in nothing but a sports bra and shorts, hair still wet and parts sticking to her forehead where they are not slicked back. She must have just come from a shower, but her attire is wholly inappropriate for the cold of the safehouse. The cold might not be a bother for you since Talon, but you know that most people would not be able to tolerate it like you do.

 

The overhead light flicks on and it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden influx of light. Your heightened senses make it easier for you to function in the dark, even preferable for you, but the light can be a bit of a shock if you aren’t prepared for it. You blink up at the taller woman and she brightens at seeing you finally.

 

“Little spider! You are sitting here in the dark?”

 

Your face remains impassive as you look up up  _ up  _ at her from your seated position, but you answer amicably, “I was just about to go to my room. Are you not cold like that?”

 

You can’t help but be curious about her state of dress and question her about it, even though you are not usually one for inane conversation.

 

She grins, one large palm going to brush the hair off her face, “You must not forget! This is my home, I have what they call hot blood.”

 

Her bra strains a bit over her broad chest as she flexes a bit for you, seemingly demonstrating her supposed fortitude. You know for a fact that if your circulation wasn’t the artificially induced mess that it is currently, you’d be blushing at the display.

 

“I think you mean ‘hot blooded’. And I am not sure you know the meaning of the saying.”

 

Aleksandra seems unbothered by this, “Ah well, does not matter. You are not cold, spider?”

 

Taking note of your attire (a black turtleneck, grey slacks, and thick black socks) you wonder at how she could think you to be cold when dressed as such. But in your momentary distraction, she has crossed the room and grabbed your hand in one of her massive paws.

 

“Spider! You are cold as ice!”

 

Her sudden touch and exclamation startles you a bit, though it prompts nothing more than a subtle widening of your eyes. You pull your hand from hers, rolling your eyes a bit at her reaction.

 

“Oui, well-”

 

She cuts you off. “Wait here.”

 

Before you can get another word out, she rushes from the room, moving far faster than a person her size should be able to. You release a frustrated sigh, contemplating just getting up and going to your room like you’d planned, but you stay put. For some reason, you don’t want to upset that big oaf of a woman.

 

After a moment, she comes thundering back in, not even giving your a full minute to think about leaving. She looks like she had quickly towelled her hair, leaving it a fluffy pink mess, but she didn’t put on any more clothes in her time away. In her hands, she has a large wad of fabric and you can feel a sense of foreboding wash over you.

 

She comes back to your seated form and proudly unravels the fabric, revealing to you an enormous robin’s egg blue sweater littered with hearts matching the color of her hair.

 

“Mei made this for me,” she explains, “but the arms are small for me. But you are cold and little bear would be happy that it is being used like this. To help keep you warm.”

 

The mere idea of wearing that monstrosity is off putting to you and you are about to say as much, but when your eyes wander back up to hers, you can’t do it.

 

She’s giving you that hopeful, pleading look -- one rivaling the (what do they call it, puppy look?) pout that Lena sends after you call her an annoyance for wanting to cuddle you. You can’t deny the look when Lena gives it to you and you certainly can’t do so now when it’s coming from this actual teddy bear of a woman.

 

You sigh. Hold out your hand.

 

“Give it here.”

 

Her face lights up like you’ve just given her the greatest gift she will ever receive and you have to look away for a moment at the radiance of her smile. You stand and pull the material over the sweater you’re already wearing and it positively dwarfs you.

 

The neck hole is large enough that it slips and hangs from your shoulders, the arms so long that they fully cover your hands and then some, and the torso falls nearly past your knees, looking almost like a dress on you. You feel ridiculous, but the look that Aleksandra is giving you makes it worth it (though you’d never say so out loud).

 

“It’s perfect!”

 

You usually don’t bother faking expressions for the sake of the others, but in this situation, you can’t help but force a smile onto your lips, to show her that you’re not totally suffering and that you appreciate her concern for you (not because you find this endeavor cute, definitely not that).

 

At your rough approximation of a smile, she rushes you, pulling you close and enveloping you in her massive arms. You stiffen at her sudden action, and the moment she feels that, she releases you like she’s been burned (though you know the opposite would be more likely).

 

“Sorry!” she is immediately apologetic, “I did not mean to cross boundaries, I lost my head for a moment.”

 

You adjust your clothes that had been rumpled by her embrace but shake your head, “You’re fine, ma grande. It’s alright.”

 

When you look back up, you notice that Aleksandra has a faint redness across her cheeks and is fidgeting her hands. You raise a brow questioningly.

 

“Is there something else?”

 

She glances away, rocking on her toes and flexing her quads nervously.

 

“Yes um,” her voice seems to fail her. She coughs. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to spend the night with me.”

 

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. After a moment, she seems to realize how that could be taken the wrong way.

 

“No no no no!” She’s shaking her hands frantically in front of her, “I was just meaning -- well, Lena is out tonight, yes? And Mei, Angela, and Satya are in the labs also. And Fareeha was called away by her mother. I just thought that maybe you might be lonely. And -- and maybe I could keep you warm?”

 

She ends her frantic ramble mumbling to the ground, one hand behind her head and anxiously scratching at the short hair there.

 

You take a moment to mull it over. You hadn’t intended to have company this evening, just planning to sit with your mission brief and then head to bed alone. But after this course of events, you think that maybe (just maybe) company wouldn’t be that bad. You might not liked being touched that often, but you could do of a bit of cuddling (solely for Aleksandra’s sake, not at all because you crave the contact -- not at all).

 

“Oui.”

 

She head jerks up in surprise, searching your face for a moment -- not that she’d find anything, you’re as stoic as always -- but after a moment she smiles again and holds out her hand. You don’t hesitate to place your hand in it and allow yourself to be lead to her room.

 

Her room is not particularly disordered, the only thing that seems to be thrown about is the armor she had worn that day for training and then discarded. She kicks it aside carelessly as she leads you to her bed.

 

Releasing your hand, she throws herself down on the bed, the mattress creaking in distress at the sudden weight, and then looks up at you imploringly.

 

You move and settle yourself more carefully (half afraid that the bed won’t handle your combined weight) but the bed holds and you lay yourself out next to her, moving to pull her arm around you to let her know it’s alright to touch you. She immediately pulls you closer, bringing your head to rest on her chest and one of your legs to drape over her with her other hand resting on your thigh after she pulls the blanket up around the two of you.

 

The position is comfortable and you melt into it, all stiffness draining from your body and allowing you to relax nearly completely (you haven’t been truly relaxed since that night when you were taken). As you lie there and start to drift to sleep to the sound of Aleksandra’s even breathing, you can’t help but think that you may be feeling just a little bit of warmth seep back into your cold body. That maybe things like this (a handmade sweater and a cuddly bodybuilder or a mouthy Brit, a pretty doctor or pudgy climatologist, a statuesque architect or a rocket powered security chief) are what you need to help you get back to how you used to be. Or maybe they can help you to get to a new place where you can be comfortable accepting what you’ve become.

 

But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is the warmth that you think you can finally  _ feel  _ radiating from your bed partner and leading you to sleep.

 

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  
When Lena find you the next morning still wearing the sweater, you have to threaten her (very seriously) with death to get her to stop laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> that's all, been good to have you, hope you enjoyed and all that  
> comments and shit welcome and i'm always up for convo over at genderqueermusketeer.tumblr.com if ya want  
> um, also, looking for a beta maybe, if anyone would be down for that, please hit me up, idk how to go about doing this but i'm very friendly lmao  
> peace out


End file.
